


Practical Necromancy in the Shadow of ORB

by mapletea (exogoggles)



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Necromancy, Potentially unsettling imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27103300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exogoggles/pseuds/mapletea
Summary: An interview with Rob, brother to the eternal, unknowable entity and former mascot of the Canada Moist Talkers blaseball team, ORB. Investigating some societal implications of necromancy, and what it may be like to be brother to ORB.
Kudos: 6





	Practical Necromancy in the Shadow of ORB

“...hands together for Rob Orbison!” Rob blinked and realized he was being ushered onto the stage. He stepped forward and unsteadily made his way over to the interview desk and the waiting chair. The host was grinning too much so he turned his head towards the empty darkness that he knew concealed the audience, protected behind a wall of blinding light. He attempted a smile and gave a vague wave towards the torrent of applause that was pouring from the shadows. The only form he could make out was his sibling ORB, sitting in the second row. He thought he saw someone else sitting in the same seat but they didn’t seem to notice. He blinked, and suddenly ORB was hundreds of kilometers in diameter, filling his vision, somehow still visible although it couldn’t possibly fit inside the TV studio. One more blink; now ORB was back to about ten meters wide, but his eyes strained as if trying to make out a distant ship on the horizon.

Rob felt the familiar prickle at the back of his head that he knew would turn into a migraine if he kept looking, so he tore his gaze away from his sibling and back to the interview chair. He managed to drop ungracefully into the chair and crossed his legs in a way that he hoped looked casual and collected. He could feel his pulse throughout his whole body, and was worried the cameras would pick up the bead of sweat he could feel forming on his forehead.

“Welcome, Rob!” The host was still grinning too much with their mouth, the eyes dull and bored. “So nice of you to join us today on Halifax Tonight! Tell us a little about yourself!”

“Um, great to be here Sam,” Rob replied, trying to settle into a comfortable position in the chair without slouching. “As I think you already said, I’m Associate Professor of Aquatic Necromancy at Dalhousie University, and we’ve had a fascinating―”

“That’s great, Rob!” the host cut in, and leaned closer to the retro-styled microphone standing on the desk between them. “I understand you’re also brother to our favourite local deity, ORB? The resemblance is uncanny!”

“Um, yes, that’s right.” Rob winced and shifted in his chair. He could see ORB in the corner of his eye and tried not to look towards the audience.

“What’s it like to be the brother of an unknowable and eternal entity that transcends time and space?”

“Um, well, it’s what I’m used to, it just seems normal. It doesn't really have a birthday I guess? Um, as I was saying, we’ve had a fascinating time recently in Aquatic Necromancy. Of course, the Jaylen Hotdogfingers incident was the first time we proved conclusively that this field of research had practical applications. Just think of the possibilities ‒ if we can bring a blaseball pitcher back after being incinerated, who else could we resurrect? The faculty has a list several thousand names long of historical figures that we think it would be in humanity’s best interests to return ‒ not to mention the deluge of requests to see loved ones again!”

“Of course, of course, but”―something stirred in the host’s empty eyes―”we can’t all get our best friend or parent back, right? We need thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of people to coordinate. How do you propose we decide, as a society, how to choose who is returned?”

“Ah, aha, well, as you’ve pointed out, there are lots of different views, so the faculty of Aquatic Necromancy is proposing an open forum to generate a short-list, so to speak, of important historical figures and beloved personalities, along with the tangible benefit to society of that person being returned. Then, we will hold a public ballot to decide who to focus on.” A glint on the microphone caught his eye. There was a single droplet of water forming on the side. He quickly looked away. “Of course, we have to consider their contributions to society while they were alive, along with their likelihood of being able to catch up with our society. 

“For example, Aristotle is a name that comes up often in these conversations, and there’s no denying that he was a great philosopher and scientist for his time, but he would have to spend his whole second life just catching up with today’s knowledge and mathematics. And of course, who knows if he could even adjust to our current society’s sensibilities?”

“Fascinating, I suppose we don’t normally think of what it would be like to be transported 2000 years into the future and asked to further their mathematics.” A second water droplet formed on the mic. The host didn’t seem to notice. ORB was both expanding and shrinking in the corner of Rob’s vision. He blinked and it vanished, but he could still feel its presence behind him.

“And of course, we don’t yet know if it’s possible for a resurrected person to do anything other than play blaseball. Hotdogfingers seemed compelled to play, but we don’t know if that was due to the terms of her contract prior to her incineration, or her debt to the forces that returned her. Imagine if we bring Mahatma Gandhi back and he’s forced to bat for the Steaks every day!”

“Mmm, yes,” the host mused. The intense interest was highlighted in every feature of their face except their eyes. Rob stole a quick glance at the microphone; water was pouring out of it now and spreading across the desk, soaking into the arm of the host’s expensive grey suit jacket. There was no reaction from them. “But that won’t stop some from trying. I gather there are a few private citizens trying to use this as a way to cheat death. Can you tell us about that?” Rob shifted the elbow of his cheap tweed blazer away from the expanding puddle.

“Yes, well we do know that Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos have already paid thousands of people to Idolize them, for a shot at returning if they pass away suddenly. I heard an unconfirmed rumour that Bezos is in talks with his lawyers to see if he can make it a requirement of employment at Amazon that you Idolize him.

“Wow! That’s thinking outside the box!” the host sat back and laughed. The water was spilling off the table and into their lap, but they didn’t so much as glance down. Suddenly they sat forward again, their face serious. There was a squelch as their weight shifted to their shoes. Those eyes were still blank but now they reminded Rob of the one time he met Fish Summer - predatory. “But perhaps it’s more about who you know than who knows  _ you _ ?” Rob frowned, trying to understand. The feeling of ORB growing behind him didn’t help. He could smell the ocean.

“Can you elaborate, please?”

“I understand that Hotdogfingers’ return coincided with the Moist Talkers designating ORB as their mascot?”

“Yes, those events happened during the same blaseball season.” The sharp sensation of adrenaline shot down Rob’s fingers. This wasn’t what they’d discussed before the show.

“And this was the same season in which your faculty was running a fundraising drive?”

“Well, we run several of those each―”

“And on proof that necromancy is possible, I believe your fundraising goals were met several times over?”

“I, um, well, I see the connection, but―”

“So perhaps it would be reasonable to conclude―”

“―and I see what you’re getting at―”

“―that your sibling―”

“―but that’s not―”

“―was directly responsible―”

“―how it works―”

“―which is directly in contravention of the  _ No Manipulation of the Fabric of Life and Death for Fundraising Purposes _ _Act_ of 1972!” the host finished triumphantly, apparently unaware that water had completely covered the studio floor, sloshing every time they moved. In the pause, Rob could hear the sound of breaking glass as, one by one, the harsh spotlights in the ceiling blinked out and streams of water started falling from each. The host leaned forward to speak once more.

“―” they said, as a torrent of seawater poured out of their mouth. They continued to move their lips and gesticulate as if they were still talking, but all it did was make the stream sputter and spray. Rob heard a creaking noise above him, and looked up just in time to see the ceiling give way and the full weight of the ocean crash down on him.

***

When Rob opened his eyes, the studio appeared to be at the bottom of Bedford Baisin. He could see the rippling image of MacKay Bridge above him. Seaweed and algae had grown over every surface, and fish flitted through the audience, each frozen in their seats. Without power the only light filtered down from the water’s surface, reflecting off the glassy white spheres set where each audience member’s eyes should be. The host was floating in place, mouth moving but not making any sound. 

Rob sighed, the feeling of brine in his lungs somewhat familiar, and focused his mind.

_ OK sib, knock it off. _

_ Yes, I know they were being a jerk but they have a point. I know you wouldn’t _ ―

_ I know you didn’t, but it looks that way to them. _

_ Well, I appreciate that, but _ ―

_ OK, but this prank has run its course. I need to get back now please. This is important to me. _

_ Now. Please. _

He blinked, and suddenly the studio was back to normal. The host, wearing a slightly different shade of grey suit, was shaking his hand.

“Lovely to have you on the show, Rob. Thank you for coming!” They turned to the camera. “And we have an exciting announcement to make - Halifax Tonight will be donating all of next year's profits to the Dalhousie Department of Aquatic Necromancy!” They turned to give one final shake, and Rob could see genuine warmth in their eyes. Were they brown before? He couldn’t remember. The pupils were white―that was definitely new.

“See you next time.” A wave of applause followed Rob off the stage. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to his sibling's sense of humour, but apparently the interview had gone well after all. He doubted the station would actually donate the money, which was one less thing to worry about at least.

He hoped he could get all the way home before the migraine really set in.


End file.
